A little magic
by Irishanam
Summary: The new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher has a secret and Oliver can't help but be involved!
1. Default Chapter

The double doors to the Great Hall swung open and the students of Hogwarts quieted, turning to look at the late arrival to the first day of school. "I beg your pardon, Professor Dumbledore. I got a little held up over the Atlantic." An American woman's voice said, crossing the large room with ease. Students leaned back on their benches, straining to get a glimpse of the tall woman, hidden in a long, hooded emerald cloak as she strode up the center aisle to the head table. She reached out a slender hand to shake the School Master's and the elderly wizard beamed at her in welcome. "Professor Hyland! Welcome to our school!" He greeted warmly. The hood nodded slightly in acknowledgement and Dumbledore turned to his students as the mysterious woman went around the table while he spoke to sit by the new flight instructor and Quidditch referee, Oliver Wood. "Children, this is your new 'Defense Against the Dark Arts' professor, Angel Hyland. As you may have observed, she is from American and attended the Jean-Sebastian School of Wizardry in Vancouver, Canada." Pushing back her hood at last, Angel smiled and nodded at the students as she absently pulled off leather gloves and pulled her long auburn hair out from under the cloak. Whispers filled the hall at once and Ron Weasley turned to his friends with an amused grin. "Look at Oliver! he's gaping like a bloody fish out of water!" Harry glanced over at the former Gryffindor Quidditch captain and watching as he ogled the new Dark Arts professor's beautiful face and bright blue eyes, Harry joined Ron in smothered laughter. "Leave him alone!" Hermione Granger hissed, poking Ron in the arm since he was the only one of the pair she could reach. "Fancy him, Hermione?" Ron asked, still laughing quietly under his hand as Oliver nervously knocked over a goblet of pumpkin juice. "No!" She answered hotly, "He obviously fancies Professor Hyland and doesn't need you two bothering him! He's a professor now, you know." "He's still Quidditch crazed Oliver." Harry pointed out, feeling the need to defend he and his best friend's laughter. The hall had gone back to eating and students spoke amongst themselves, a buzz filing the hall with the excitement of a new year. Hundreds of candles floated giving off a bright light and the ceiling mimicked the starry, clear sky outside the castle school The three friends stared up at the head table, watching the former student and new professor as they ate, but they were just as shocked as everyone else about what happened next. Angel pointed down the table with a questioning look and Oliver smiled winningly, picking up a salt shaker and handing it to her. As she took the shaker, something bizarre occurred, causing everyone to gasp in surprise. A loud thunder crack sounded and the pair flew up into the air before Oliver was flung along the head table, clearing it of food and slamming painfully into a stone wall as Angel flew a shorter distance into the opposite direction and hit that wall. Clutching her right shoulder with a pained expression, Angel shakily got to her feet and looked across the silent room to where Oliver sat on the floor, back against the wall and food covering his dark blue dress robes. His blue eyes were wide with shock and he reached up a trembling hand to wipe pumpkin soup from his forehead and brownish red hair before it dripped into his eyes. "My goodness." Dumbledore spoke up, filling the stunned silence. Waving the wand he seemed to pull from the sleeve of his robe, the headmaster caused all the fallen platters and food left in Oliver's wake to disappear. Turning to his Dark Arts professor, the white haired wizard smiled benignly. "You certainly don't exaggerate, Miss Hyland." Everyone else was confused by this cryptic thought, but Angel immediately tore her gaze from Oliver and paled, then flushed with embarrassment. Before anyone else could speak, she turned heel and fled the hall, rustling the robes of the Slytherins as she ran quickly past.  
  
The incident had the students' full attention and interest for the rest of the evening. Discussions wondered what had happened, if Professor Hyland had 'attacked' Oliver Wood and if so, why, as well as why she ran from the Hall. "I think he got fresh." Ron declared as he, Harry and Hermione headed to the Gryffindor common room. "He was handing her the salt with his right hand! How could he have possibly been doing anything?" Hermione demanded of the tall, red head. Flustered by her logic, Ron shrugged as they approached they approached the Gryffindor portrait. "Flutter-budget." Harry told the Fat Lady portrait. Nodding sleepily, the portrait swung outward and the trio climbed inside. "Maybe he said something insulting." Harry suggested, earning an earnest nod of agreement from Ron. "Then why did she fly back to hit the wall as well?" Hermione asked as they collapsed into cushy leather chairs before the fireplace. "Said the spell wrong." Ron spit out, scowling at the superior expression on Hermione's face. "All our other Defense against the Dark Arts teachers have sucked." "Except Lupin." Harry interjected quickly, earning acknowledging nods from the pair. "She's too good to have done that." Hermione smiled and both boy's knew that once again she had some information they didn't. Exchanging suffering looks, the pair waited for her to tell them what she knew. "I've heard of her." "And?!" Ron prompted impatiently, "What for?" Leaning forward in her chair eagerly, Hermione gestured with her hands as she spoke. "Angel Hyland is in the History of Magic as the youngest witch to ever defeat a Banshee single-handedly!" She sat back with a triumphant expression and her two friends exchanged clueless looks. "So?" Harry shrugged, hardly impressed. "How do we know she actually did it?" Ron asked, earning the glare Hermione had been giving Harry. "What?! Can't hurt to ask! Look at what Lockhart did!" "There was an entire town of witnesses." Hermione sniffed, annoyed that they weren't as convinced and excited as her. "It was the Bandon Banshee." "But...Lockhart said it was a witch with a harelip!" Harry protested, as both boys leaned forward with interest. "Lying obviously. Besides, Professor Hyland actually wasn't affected by the Memory Charm, but she doesn't like attention so she let Lockhart take the credit. A reporter from the 'Daily Prophet', who was looking for the real stories after we exposed Lockhart, found it out. You two really should subscribe to the newspaper." Waving off her common suggestion, Ron looked over at Harry. "So we know she'd good, but not what happened at dinner." "We could just ask her." Harry suggested, pointing out the obvious and easy way to go about it. "Perhaps." Hermione mused, "Anyway, I'm going to bed." That said, she rose and headed to the girls' side of the tower to her room.  
  
Wrapped in a gigantic, fluffy white towel, Angel stood before the mirror on the back of her bedroom door. Her rooms were in a tower so she had four circular floors with large windows on the east side. Her bedroom in the top, followed by a large bath room, library-office and then a living room. The bedroom was decorated in pale blues and tapestries. Blue curtains with a layer of lace hung from the king sized bed and window. The bed and wardrobe were of beautiful dark cherry wood and old tapestries that were in Angel's family for generations, covered the wall, acting as insulation as well as decoration. She'd just finished bathing in the large marble tub and now turned slightly, dropping the towel low enough to reveal a mark on her left shoulder. Angel was aware of how gruesome it looked, though it resembled a Muggle tattoo. A red heart had a stiletto knife through it, the hilt and blade on either side. Blood dripped form the tip of the bloody knife and the heart itself into a puddle a few inches lower on the left side of her back. After she'd touched Oliver Wood, besides being thrown against a stone wall, there was a searing pain where the mark was and while she'd never been stabbed, Angel was sure that that was the sensation Ivan would use considering his perverse sense of amusement. Reaching her right hand over to the mark, Angel fingered it and after nothing happened, sighed and grabbed her nightgown. As she put it on, climbed into bed and blew out her bedside candle, Angel fell asleep wondering on the irony of fleeing to this far off school and there, finding her true love.  
  
The class of twenty buzzed with excitement and curiosity, all of them arriving early to their first 'Defense Against The Dark Arts' class and watching the office door at the top of the marble stairs in the front of the classroom with impatience. "Alright, quiet down." A cool, soft voice said from the back of the classroom. Surprised the students all spun around to find their new professor had come into the classroom from the hall, not in her office as they expected. Her thick hair was tamed into a fat braid and Angel strolled easily up the middle aisle, her emerald robe rustling quietly. She knew she looked calm, collected and serious, but it was a facade she'd perfected as a teenager. In actuality, her heart thumped wildly with nerves and she kept her hands clasped behind her back to hide their icy clamminess.  
'God, I hate speaking in front of people.' She thought tiredly. It was the last class of the day and she was dead on her feet from a lack of sleep, though the students didn't see it. "You all already know basic class rules for Hogwarts. Those certainly apply in here. I also have a few I deem important and expect followed." Angel glanced around the room, assessing each student as she spoke and then flicked her wrist, causing a roll of parchment to appear in her right hand. "I hate bullies." She stated simply. "My classroom will have no teasing, snide remarks, insults or laughing at another's expense. I expect that as we're learning new things in class, you help one another if I'm taken up with another student. No on is to be mocked for a lack of knowledge." Angel walked between the desks now, working off nervous energy. "While I'm aware some of you will read ahead, you're only responsible for the chapters I assign to you. I will prepare you to fight Dark creatures and spells. Should be fun." She'd returned to the front of the room and flashed them a smile that caused Seamus Finnegan, Ron and Neville Longbotton to grin back stupidly. Snapping her fingers after checking the parchment, Angel caused it to disappear and absently waved to her desk, the 'Dangerous Forces' textbook floating to hover beside her. "Open your books to...page three hundred and seventeen. You've covered up to Banshees, correct?" Angel asked as the class pulled out their own books and opened them excitedly. "We-We've not c-covered Banshees, Professor." Seamus spoke up, his normally laughing blue eyes showing fear. Moving to stand before his desk, Angel's expression was caring and concerned. "Irish, luv?" Nodding, a little confused by the change of subject, Seamus looked up at her with question. "Don't lose the accent. Girls in the States go weak in the knees for it." Angel commented with a slight smile as the class giggled. "But it does come with a slight...discomfort with Banshees. And with good reason." Moving back to her desk at the front of the class, Angel perched on it and waved her book to lay on the desktop without looking away from Seamus. "I realize part of it maybe legend, but what can you tell me about Banshees?" Pausing to think, Seamus cleared his throat and tried to ignore Hermione's waving hand, determined to make the pretty professor happy with him. "Always women...A Banshee's got black hair and greenish skin. It's screams kill and me mum says they have long hair and look all...skeletal. A lot of them live in Ireland, though we don't know why." "Perfect, luv! Twenty points to...Gryffindor, is it?" "Aye!" Seamus replied with a smitten grin. Smiling back, Angel glanced at the Muggle watch she wore. "Tomorrow we'll talk about defeating one...I want you to read the chapter and write a summary on Banshees for homework, alright? You can go early then." Flicking her wrist flipped her book shut and Angel watched as the students gathered their things to leave, raising an eyebrow in question as Hermione's hand shot up. "Yes?" "I'm Hermione Granger, Professor Hyland." She supplied, ignoring how still everyone else became. "Yes, Hermione?" "I just wondered...Well, what happened at dinner last night with you and Professor Wood?" "I..." Breaking off, Angel fought the pain and sadness that hit her at the mention of the dinner and missed how Ron, Neville and Seamus glared at Hermione angrily for upsetting the professor. "It's a bit long and complicated, luv, and an accident. I won't burden you with it." Everyone could tell by her tone that she was telling them politely to mind their own business and Hermione ducked her head, flushing slightly. "I'm sorry." "It's alright, child." Angel replied quietly, her expression softening. "Always ask questions....The worst they can do is say 'no.'" Looking up, Hermione shared a thankful grin with the woman got up, ignoring the Slytherins' laughter. "Oh...Mr. Potter, could you remain behind for a moment?" Moving to the front of the room as everyone left, Harry fought annoyance at the idea of being recognized and fawned over for his reputation with Lord Voldermort. Shuffling his feet, Harry waited for the door to close after the last student and looked up, expecting to find Professor Hyland searching his hairline for the lightening-like scar he carried. Instead, to his surprise, Harry found that Angel was nervously fiddling with her braid and seemingly unaware that he even stood before her. "Professor?" He asked hesitantly. Blinking, Angel focused on the boy before her and smiled with a hint of self-mockery. "You...played on the Gryffindor Quidditch team with Professor Wood, correct?" "Yes, ma'am. Oliver...Professor Wood was our team captain and goalkeeper." Harry must've shown his confusion at the question, but Angel didn't address it and moved to stand behind the desk, shifting some papers on its surface. "I need to...apologize to him." She admitted reluctantly. Glancing up at Harry and seeing his surprised look, Angel smiled wryly. "What sort of gift do you think he'd like?" His mind racing with astonishment, Harry thought it over and came up with a few suggestions to give the waiting woman.  
  
Startling him, Oliver found himself extremely disappointed to discover that Angel wasn't in the Great Hall for breakfast the next morning. Picking at his bowl of oatmeal, Oliver sighed and reached for a Scottish scone as he wondered at his strong feelings for someone he barely knew. He heard the mass flapping of the wings of the mail owls, but expecting nothing, didn't look up. To his surprise, a beautiful barn owl perched silently on the edge of the head table before him and patiently held a package wrapped in brown paper and string until Oliver took it from him. His name was written in an unfamiliar hand and Oliver glanced around the Hall, but no one seemed to be watching him as if to see him receiving and opening it. The heart faced owl was unfamiliar to him as well, but that wasn't unexpected if it came from an owl post office. Oliver hesitantly reached a hand to the bird and was pleased to see it leaned forward and let him rub it's feathered head. Feeding the owl a piece of ham, Oliver unwrapped the package to reveal a clothing box. Frowning with a perplexed look, he pulled it open and grinned with pleasure, earning what sounded like a pleased hoot from the owl. A collector of Quidditch team robes, nothing could have pleased him more than what lay folded in the box. IT was a deep blue robe accented with silver. The badge over the left breast was a silver embroider of two brooms in the paws of a large bear while a snitch fluttered near it's head. 'Vancouver United' was on a blue banner below the picture. "Wicked!" Oliver exclaimed, earning looks from people nearby as he grinned good-naturedly. Lifting the robe from the box, his pleasure grew to find the blue and silver stripped sweater that teams wore under their robes in cold weather. Unconscious of the jealous looks he was receiving from student Quidditch fans, Oliver notices a piece of parchment had fluttered to the floor and absently thanked the owl that retrieved it for him. He opened it to find a hurried, old style of calligraphy jotted across the page, but it wasn't difficult to read.  
'Oliver,  
I take the liberty of using your first name since I believe the other night at dinner puts us past such formalities. Please take this Vancouver Quidditch team uniform as a gift to express my apology. While I have a vague idea about why the incident occurred between us, I must assert that I had no control over it and certainly meant you no harm. Please forgive me.  
Your Servant,  
Angel Hyland.' Reaching the signature, Oliver flushed slightly as his heart turned over and he cleared his throat in embarrassment as he refolded the note and placed it back in the box. "Girlfriend, Professor Wood?" Jerking his head up with flashing, angry blue eyes, Oliver relaxed immediately as he saw Harry flinch. "No, just a gift. Did you need somethin', mate?" "Just seeing if you liked the robe. Professor Hyland asked me for some gift ideas." Harry leaned on the table and glanced at the owl with a questioning look. "Oh...You can go to the owlery. I'll thank her in person." To their surprise, the bird seemed to nod, hooted and flew off. "Decidedly odd." Oliver commented in his thick Scottish brogue. Nodding, Harry glanced over to where Hermione and Ron sat and at their impatient waves, turned to Oliver with a nonchalant expression. "She said she need to apologize. About the flying across the room thing?" "Aye." Oliver answered absently, refolding the robe and closing it safely in the box. "What happened?" Harry asked with an innocent look. Glancing up at the teenager, Oliver searched his face and Harry didn't change expression, though he felt a stab of uneasiness. "Not sure." Oliver answered honestly. "She doesn't know for sure either. Just chemistry, I suppose." He added the last sentence with a mischievous grin that Harry couldn't help returning. "Strange though." "Aye...I've gotta go. See ya later, Harry." Before Harry could reply, Oliver had gathered his things and headed for the exit of the Hall. 


	2. the curse

Heading down the hall toward his rooms, Oliver paused just before a corner as he heard a woman's American voice. "What's wrong, luv? You're a first year, correct?" "Y-Yes." A child's voice managed, followed by sniffles. Peeking around the corner, Oliver watched as Angel , donned in blue robes, knelt before the blonde girl, who obviously was small for her age. "I'm Angel. What's your name?" As she spoke, Angel sat beside the girl and ignored the dust that covered the floor between the two coats of armor as she put her arm around the child. "H-Helen." "And what's wrong, Helen? Homesick?" "I...Yes." Tears started to stream down the girl's face and Angel's face softened as she lifted some of her hair and wiped the child's tears away. Fighting a shudder, Oliver wished Angel would touch him with the same gentleness and care, and found himself nearly sweating in desire. Leaning against the cool stone wall, he clenched his fists and concentrated on Angel's words. "It's hard to move to a new place without your family. Mine is in America and like you, I'm new here and know no one." "Really?" Helen asked, her green eyes wide with innocent trust. "Yes. Making friends can be difficult but there are ten first years in your House. Like you, they are in a new place with no family or friends. All you need to do is find something in common with one." "What if I can't?" Helen managed, nervously biting her bottom lip as she picked at some invisible lint on her robe." "Well, what do you like? I'm sure if we find something, then we can ask around for someone else who likes it as well." "But I have Muggle parents! No one else knows some of the tings I like...Like football." Chuckling, Angel tugged on one of Helen's pigtails. "I understand, luv. I'm the same, though it's an American sport called ice hockey that's my passion. Still, find a Quidditch fan and ask them to teach you about it. Then you can teach the about soccer. Or find someone who likes the same class you do." "A girl Quidditch fan?!" Helen frowned with disbelief and Angel sighed. "I'm sure there's at least one First year girl who enjoys Quidditch or even soccer. We just..." "Need to ask me." Oliver finished, coming into view. Kneeling before the pair, he smiled warmly at the girl then at Angel with a different sort of warmth that caused her to drop her gaze and flush slightly while she rubbed her shoulder which had begun to throb at the sound of his voice. Turning his attention back to the small eleven year old, Oliver offered her his hand, helping her to stand. "I happen to know that Catherine Webster, also Muggle born, is a huge fan of both Quidditch and football. She's in Ravenclaw too, I believe." "She is?!" Helen exclaimed, brightening as Oliver turned and offered his hand to Angel. "Aye. I'll introduce her to you in flying class, if you like." "Thank you!" Helen scampered off then, but neither adult noticed. As Angel reached thankfully for his assistance, her hand wouldn't touch Oliver's own. Knitting her brows, she pushed her hand toward him again and felt as if she'd come up against an invisible wall. "What..." "Try again." Oliver ordered, frowning in concentration as they both lifted their hands again and tried to touch. Reaching, they got their hands just to meeting before something stopped them both as if a piece of glass were between them. "Blood hell." Oliver muttered as he tried to touch her knee this time, with the same result. "Maybe..." Angel reached up and touched his black robes easily and encouraged, moved the cloth to touch his knee, but she was stopped again. "Can you take this?" Oliver asked, handing out the Quidditch robe box as Angel scrambled inelegantly to her feet. "Um..." She easily took the box, but was unable to brush her fingers against his as she did so. "Well, this is certainly worse than flying apart when I touch ya!" Oliver growled, frustrated as he took back the box. Sighing, Angel raked a hand through her hair. "Damn this curse!" She finally exclaimed, meeting Oliver's blue eyes with her own, equally as frustrated. "Curse?! What curse?!" Slumping slightly, Angel rubbed her forehead irritably. "We'd best discuss this a bit. Come with me." Reaching out to take his arm to guide him, Angel met the barrier and there up her hands angrily before stalking down the hall with Oliver on her heels.  
  
She'd led him to her own apartments and as Oliver dropped into a comfortable arm chair, he looked around with unconcealed curiosity. Irish themed afghans lay folded over the backs of both chairs. Figurines and knickknacks from all over the world decorated the shelves and there seemed to be books on any free surface. "Overflow books form my library upstairs." Angel explained as Oliver picked one up off the table and opened it to discover it was full of handwritten pages. "Oh yeah." Angel showed slight embarrassment as she sat down in the matching chair across from him. "Some of them are journals of my writing." "That's a gift I don't have." Oliver said with a smile, putting her at ease as he set the book aside. "I know its still morning, but I need this." Angel pulled out a maple wand with cherry wood handle and waved it slightly, causing a complete tea set to appear on the table between them. "Cream and sugar?" She asked, pouring him a cup from the silver teapot. "Sugar only...two cubes." Oliver answered, thankfully taking the china cup and saucer from her with care. "Now about this curse..." Angel tensed immediately, but found herself putting her cup of tea down because the pain in her shoulder was making holding anything difficult.  
'Every time he speaks...stabbing pain.' "Ex-boyfriend." She stated with a dry smile. "Wizard, I assume?" Oliver commented, his voice tight with jealously. "More like a sorcerer, the bastard." Angel muttered, pleating her robe and missing Oliver's lightened expression at her statement. At that moment, a small black fur ball seemed to fly up into Angel's lap and she smiled absently as it promptly began purring contentedly. "A Puffskein?" Smiling at Oliver, Angel nodded. "This is Puggles." "Ah." "Anyway, Pierre couldn't just let go and move on. I was telling him how I didn't wish to see him again when he muttered something and I was hit with a spell that knocked me out. When I woke up, I had a mark on my shoulder and Pierre was smiling like the Cheshire cat." "A mark on your shoulder?" Oliver asked hesitantly, setting down his tea. "It's a..." Meeting his eyes, Angel was caught hypnotically in the intensity of the gaze and she swallowed hard. "S-Shall I show you?" Nodding slowly, Oliver watched wide eyed as Angel got to her feet and took off the wizard robe to reveal that she wore Muggle jeans and a button down, silk white shirt. Turning her back to him, she unbuttoned the shirt and dropped it over her left shoulder just low enough to show the mark. Oliver gasped sharply in surprise and Angel glanced over her shoulder at him. He pointed at the mark silently with a perplexed expression and Angel spun to where a mirror hung over the fireplace to look at her back. "Why's it..." Oliver broke off as the mark seemed to be etched in lines of fire and the lines brightened as he spoke. "Damn...I knew it hurt when you spoke, but I had no idea it was..." "It hurts when I speak?!" Oliver repeated, jumping to his feet, obviously furious. "Um...yes." Crossing to her, Oliver reached to grab her arm and spin her around and realizing he'd be unable to touch her, Angel turned to face him. "Why?! This mark is of the bloody curse, but what does the curse entail?!" "We cannot touch and the mark of the heart feels like a...stabbing every time you speak. That's all Pierre told me." Angel explained, her blue eyes wide as she pulled her shirt up on her shoulder. "Why me...Or is it any person? No, you touched Helen." Oliver mused. "Just men? Males?" "Um..." Her mind raced and Angel quickly decided not to tell him about the bond between them. "Men." She lied finally. "Are you going to get it removed?" Oliver asked more calmly, suddenly noticing her unbuttoned shirt and distracted by the sight of her bra and breasts. "I'm hoping Dumbledore can help. P-Part of w-why I came here." Oliver looked up to meet Angel's eyes and found hers were dark with desire as well. Unconsciously moving to kiss her, Oliver swore as he came just to touching and slammed into the barrier again. "I'm sorry, Oliver." Angel whispered, "But we'll have to be just friends." Leaning like he was laying his forehead against hers, Oliver smiled and nodded. "For now perhaps, aye."  
  
It was an extremely warm fall day and during her free period, Angel sat on a blanket on the lawn. She was grading papers on the Russian creature, Pogrebin and how to defeat the stone-looking dark animal as she watched Oliver teach Helen's flying class.  
'Hermione: "A" as usual. She's such a good...' "Angel, look out luv!" Oliver's Scottish brogue called out frantically. Glancing up, she saw a first year boy hurtling toward her with obvious lack of control and she quickly flicked out her wand. "Impedimenta!" The boy froze inanimately in the air less than two feet from falling onto Angel, a look of worry on his ruddy cheeked face and his brown eyes wide. Oliver was immediately at her side and just managed to stop himself from reaching out to pull her up to him, instead kneeling beside her. "That was quick thinkin'! Are you alright?" "I'm fine. I suggest we pull the boy down so I can free him from the spell." "Oh, right. Bobby." Standing on tiptoe, Oliver reached up and caught the hem of the boy's black robe and tugged hard toward him. Bobby's motionless body fell hard to the grass next to Oliver as his professor grimaced. "Hope he wont feel that." Muttering under her breath, Angel didn't answer as she freed Bobby from the spell. Tumbling from the broomstick, the boy smothered a yelp and rolled in the grass before jumping upright. "Sorry, Professor Hyland! I..." "No harm done, luv. Don't worry." Angel soothed with a smile. "Go join the class, Bobby. They're practicing some more at the kick off." "Yes, sir!" The boy scampered off, broom in hand and Oliver watched him for a moment before turning back to where Angel sat, an amused smile on her face as she followed the boy's run. "What're you up to?" Oliver asked, dropping down to the blanket beside her after picking up a pile of papers. He glanced over them and raised an eyebrow. "Pogrebins?" "Yes...I don't know how to show one to the students though. They grasp the concept, but being under the effect to the hopelessness that a Pogrebin projects is quite different in truth than they can imagine." She was frowning, flipping through the essays and Oliver tried to ignore how cute the expression of frustration made her look. "Try a boggart perhaps?" He suggested, handing her the papers he held. "That'd be difficult...If any student thinks of something other than a Pogrebin..." "I'm sure you could keep the boggart a..." "Not really." Angel interrupted with a smile. "I don't and never have feared Pogrebins." "Really?" Oliver looked impressed, making Angel blush slightly, but she didn't look away as she slid papers into her leather briefcase. "Yeah...At this point, I'd probably turn the boggart to Pierre. Frightening the students with an icy, haughty French-Canadian wizard, who's handsome in a cold, blonde, snobbish sort of way." She smiled dryly, but the smile faded as Oliver grimaced and fidgeted uncomfortably. "Oliver? What's wrong?" "Handsome, was he?" Oliver asked, his eyes flashing with hurt and jealousy. Angel was tempted to smile at what that look meant about his feelings for her, but smothered it, knowing he would be hurt if she did so. "I couldn't lie and say he wasn't good looking, but he never really was my type. He just...Wore me down until I said yes, I think." She admitted honestly. "Not for blondes? What's your type then?" Oliver unconsciously leaned closer to her, searching her face and Angel smiled warmly, meeting his gaze squarely. "I'm fond of British accents...Particularly Scottish. Blue eyes are excellent...Athletic, classically handsome and perhaps fond of Quidditch." "C'moan!" He shot back with a grin, flushing slightly. Sighing with an amused look, Angel watched him under her lashes. "True, and it's a good thing we've got this wall just now or that grin would get me into loads of trouble." Inhaling sharply, Oliver's eyes darkened and he moved quickly to kiss her. To the pair's surprise, he was brought up short by the barrier at a distance from Angel's face that was an obvious distance it had never been as far as. "What was that?!" Oliver demanded, rubbing his forehead with a confused look. They heard giggling then and turned to see his students watching, laughing at how he jerked for no reason in their eyes. "Class is over, you lot! Leave the brooms and go to lunch!" He hollered, the threat obvious and causing the students to scatter quickly for the castle. After they'd disappeared, Angel turned back to Oliver with a pained and thoughtful expression. "I suppose that you were brought up short that way because of....your intentions, yeah?" Groaning, Oliver dropped back on the blanket, covering his yes with his arms. Angel remained silent, admiring how his long legs stretched out casually, the robe laying smooth over his flat stomach and the profile of his handsome face as he dropped his arms over his head. "I've never been so frustrated in me life." He exclaimed, turning his head to look over at her. "Yes, it is physically..." "No! Physically, mentally and emotionally! This is worse than when the Quidditch cup was cancelled my sixth year 'cause the Chamber of Secrets was opened!" Angel quirked and eyebrow in amusement and Oliver's expression immediately became repentant as he moved to lean back on his elbows. "I didn't mean to say you're the same as a sport! I only..." "Darling, don't fret! I know how you meant it and am flattered since I'm aware how much you enjoy the sport. I get the compliment!" Relaxing, Oliver lay back again, his hands behind his head. "So it's just the curse at work again. Have ya been workin' on reversing it?" "I...no." Angel admitted. "Classes have taken more of my time than I thought. This weekend, with the third years and above at Hogsmeade and my papers graded, is my first free one." Rolling to his side, Oliver propped his head on his hand, looking up at her. "I have to practice some Quidditch...Still on the Puddlemere United reserve team. But after that I can help look for a...reversal spell or removal or something. It's serve that bastard right if we sent it back at him and he was left untouchable by the opposite sex." Oliver finished bitterly. Nodding, Angel knew Pierre could care less about finding his 'true love' and that letting no woman touch him would be a spell he'd resent, but that's not what the reversal of her curse would do. 


	3. an unexpected pain

"What?!" Ron and Harry exclaimed together, looking at Hermione with dumbfounded expressions. "I'm not going to Hogsmeade." She repeated patiently, tugging the pair by their rob sleeves out of the way of some other students heading toward the front door of Hogwarts. "But...Why on earth not?" Ron asked, looking more perplexed. "Professor Hyland." Hermione answered confidentially, obviously expecting the two to know what she was talking about. "What about her?" Harry spoke up, sharing a confused look with Ron. "We still don't know what happened between her and Oliver. You two may have forgotten, but I plan to find out what's going on." Putting her hands on her hips, Hermione glanced between the two. "Do you know that people say that despite how much time they've been spending together, they never touch?! That's not normal!" Hermione declared, throwing her hands up, irritated. "If they're only friends, they wouldn't be all touchy-feely." "That's not what I mean, Harry, though if you watch them, they're more than friends! I'm sure of it. Anyway, Oliver and Angel avoid touching...No offered hand if one trips, no accidental touch when handing each other something...Nothing!" "That's...freaky!" Ron stated.  
'Yeah, even Ron and Hermione touch accidentally at times, no matter how awkward it is.' Harry thought, glancing at the two before looking at the front door, where the caretaker Finch checked the students for permission slips. "Do you need us to stay too?" Ron asked dismally, drawing Harry's attention back. Hermione's answer made both teens grin widely. "No. I think I can hang closer to Professor Hyland without you two...She'll feel the need to befriend me, I think." Thumping her on the back with thanks, the two boys quickly disappeared out the front door for Hogsmeade.  
  
Hermione was absolutely right about her newest professor. About an hour later, she was walking down the hall toward the Gryffindor tower when someone called her name. Turning, she found Professors Hyland and Wood walking toward her. The latter was dressed in his old Gryffindor practice uniform and Quidditch pads while carrying the box of Quidditch equipment as Angel carried two expensive looking brooms. "What are you still doing here, Hermione? Hogsmeade was this weekend." Oliver pointed out with a frown of concern. "And where are Ron and Harry?" Angel asked, glancing at Oliver with an interested glance as he leaned casually against the castle wall. "They went to Hogsmeade. I just needed a break." "Too much guy time, luv? Or did you forget a homework assignment?" Chuckling slightly, Angel shook her head. "No, Oliver. She's no the sort to leave homework to the last minute. If you're alone, you can come with us. I'm helping...well, attempting to help Oliver with Quidditch practice." Brightening, Hermione nodded and took one of the brooms to help Angel as they headed for the Quidditch field.  
  
Sitting in the stands after helping Oliver with goal tending, Hermione and Angel laughed as he did flying tricks on his broomstick. He'd just done an upside down loop that occurred only inches from their head and made Hermione yelp in surprise. Angel tried to concentrate on the writing in her lap as an ache throbbed in her chest, but could not, the words blurring together. Pain, not from the curse, but form her own emotions, had been growing steadily for days. She knew she was falling in love with Oliver more by the second and the ache of not being able to touch him in any way was driving her to distraction.  
'More so then this damn pain in my shoulder every time he opens his gorgeous mouth and speaks with his amazing voice...Oh, Lord, I'm gushing...' Surprising the girl beside her, Angel dropped her had in her arms with a self mocking sigh. "Professor Hyland?" Hermione asked hesitantly, placing a worried hand on Angel's arm. "Aye, luv?" Angel answered absently, lifting her head and attempting to change her mood like a someone shakes the rain out of their hair. "What's wrong? You seem upset...ma'am." She added politely. "Oh, I'm alright. I just...It's nothing that..." Just then Hermione let out a yelp of surprise and fear and Angel jerked her head upward following the girl's gaze. Oliver was at the other end of the Quidditch field circling the goal posts when he suddenly grasped his head and fell from the broomstick like a sack of grain. Hermione glanced over at the professor with a horrified expression to she'd become deathly pale before setting off at a sprint for Oliver's unmoving side. "Go get the Nurse, Hermione! Use the broom to go quickly!" Angel shouted back, jolting the girl from her frozen shock and sending her scurrying for the broom propped against the first bench. Hermione was already at the castle doors when Angel made it to Oliver's side and she dropped to her knees beside his motionless form. Yanking off the soft kid gloves she wore, Angel reached to take Oliver's pulse or caress his face, she wasn't quite sure which, but as usual she was brought up short by the barrier between them. Letting out a string of curses, she pushed against the barrier in frustration and tried to fight past the wall with all her strength, sweating with the exhaustive, pointless effort. "Angel. Let us." A calm voice spoke up as a hand was laid on her right shoulder. Glancing back, Angel found Professor Dumbledore with Hermione and Madame Pomfrey behind him looking worried. Both females eyes widened with surprise suddenly and Angel realized why as Dumbledore bent slightly to gently wipe tears from her face. Rubbing her face roughly with the palm of her hand, Angel moved out of the way and hovered worriedly. "He just...dropped off the broom from up near the goal rings. I didn't see anything in time to stop or slow down his fall! Will he be alright?" She finally demanded anxiously, running out of breath at last. "He's unconscious." Madame Pomfrey informed them all calmly. "We'd best get him up to the infirmary so I can examine him more thoroughly." Nodding agreeably, Dumbledore flicked his wand to lift Oliver's body and gently place it on a newly arrived, floating stretcher that promptly moved toward the castle, the three adults and young girl in hot pursuit.  
  
Sitting on the floor outside of the Infirmary, Hermione was incredibly still as she watched Professor Hyland pace up and down the hallway in front of the closed double doors. She hadn't been still since they'd all arrived at the Hospital wing and only Dumbledore's firm, calm command kept Angel in the hall instead of at Oliver's side. Opening her mouth to offer something calming for her professor, Hermione shut it as the doors opened and Dumbledore appeared. "Madam Pomfrey is ready to tell us her diagnosis if you're interested."  
'That's an understatement.' Angel thought testily, turning and breezing past the headmaster into the bed lined room. Dumbledore shared an amused, twinkling smile with the wide-eyed Hermione before offering her his hand then allowing her to proceed him into the room. "Will he be okay?!" Angel demanded as she reached Oliver's bedside where Madam Pomfrey waited. "At the moment, I am healing the concussion and broken arm Professor Wood sustained in the fall. There are bumps and bruises from that as well." Nodding impatiently, Angel waved for the woman to go on then scowled as she waited for Dumbledore's word instead. "He's...dying, sir." She stated sadly as both Angel and Hermione gasped. "It's the curse at work and only the cursor can remove this." "Curse?! What curse?!" Hermione blurted out, her brown eyes skittering from one adult's face to another's. Not answering, Angel reached out a hand to where Oliver lay unconscious on the bed, stopping short of his face. A determined look hardened her features and then she turned and hurried from the room without a word to anyone.  
  
"Gone?! What do you mean, she's gone?!" Ron and Seamus demanded together as a few other Gryffindors crowded around Hermione before their Defense Against the Dark Arts class. Giving Ron a withering look, Hermione spoke in a low voice. "You know how Professor Wood is sick?" Everyone nodded and she continued: "The professor is trying to get someone to...help him. Professor Dumbledore expects her to be back eventually." He also expected Hermione not to tell everyone why Oliver was really sick, though he figured on her telling Harry and Ron and gave her permission to do so, but in private and under promises of secrecy. Sighing sadly, the Gryffindor's pain was multiplied as the classroom door opened and their substitute teacher entered. Servius Snape. 


End file.
